Every Heartbeat
by LTP-girl
Summary: Following Connie's move to L.A, and Mike's promotion to Bureau Chief of sex crimes, a health scare closes the divide, reuniting our two favourite lawyers.
1. Chapter 1

**This story's set following Cutter's promotion to Bureau Chief, so all the gang from SVU are present in this chapter. Hope y'all like*^_^* **

Disclaimer: I do not own _Law & Order_ and its characters.

**16****th**** Precinct, Special Victims' Unit, Manhattan, NY **

Tutuola lifted the empty doughnut box from the table, littering the floor with the measly crumbs that remained in the box.

"Okay, who's responsible?" he wanted to know, his tone outraged. He pointed his finger at Detectives Benson and Rollin's. "I saw you ladies hanging around here earlier. Did you have anything to do with this?" He held up the empty cardboard box, presenting it as evidence.

"Don't look at us. We didn't eat them," Rollins defended.

He turned towards Detective Amaro. "Well, how about you? As the new kid on the block, I don't expect you to understand the common rules of courtesy we uphold in this precinct."

Amaro flashed him an amused smile, lines forming at the creases of his eyes. "It wasn't me, I swear," he assured him. "Cross my heart."

"Yeah, well those pearly whites and that boyish charm of yours don't get you anywhere with me, pretty boy."

Startled by the commotion taking place in the squad room, ADA Alex Cabot and Bureau Chief Michael Cutter emerged from Captain Cragen's office.

"What's going on?" Cutter enquired, sliding a hand in his pants pocket coolly.

"I'll tell ye what's going on here Counsellor," Tutuola declared indignantly. "Some sanctimonious bastard doesn't realise that the doughnuts are for everybody."

Cutter stared down at the floor, a pang of guilt rising from his stomach.

"Are you sure it was just one person?" Cabot asked, exchanging a concerned glance with Cutter, startled by Tutuola's accusations.

Tutuola held his tongue for a moment, his expression transforming into stony glare. "Are you questioning my detective skills, Counsellor?"

"No, not at all . . . I was just . . . well, at this point in time, you can't be exactly sure _how_ those doughnuts disappeared, now can you Detective?"

Benson became concerned by Cutter's odd silence, glancing his way. "Does it really matterhowthe doughnuts disappeared?" She announced to the group. "Amaro and I where just on out way out. It's not a problem for us to pick up some more."

"Oh, be sure to get some crullers this time," Munch mentioned to Benson.

"Just replacing the stolen doughnuts won't help us track down this thief," Tutuola ranted, still flustered by the issue.

"The doughnuts weren't stolen," Rollins protested to Tutuola, clearly on Benson's side. "Like you said yourself, the doughnuts were left out for everybody."

Cutter stood forward. "It was me," he confessed sheepishly, all eyes turning towards him. "I ate the doughnuts when I came in this morning."

"It was you? But you don't even work here!" Tutuola bristled.

"I do apologise for any inconvenience it may have caused," Cutter said sincerely to the group, sounding very embarrassed. "I'll be sure to replace them."

"No wonder everybody's been going around calling him Cutter-Butter," Rollins joked slyly with Benson. "I think some Jenny Craig pamphlets are in order."

Benson chuckled at her dry quip, Rollin's droll southern accent making the words all the more amusing.

"Lucky for him, I like my guys chunky," she continued, glancing back at Cutter. "Oh yeah, gotta-get-me a piece-a-that!"

"Can't argue with that," Benson agreed, staring back at Cutter. He glanced at her sternly, his cold blue eyes meeting hers with an air of disdain, forcing her to look away from him awkwardly.

Amaro spoke up amongst the crowd. "Oh, and by the way Counsellor, that three piece suit you're wearing doesn't do you justice," He shot back at Cutter. "If anything, it makes you look like a pimp!"

"Alright that's enough!" Cabot cut in. "Amaro, what's your problem? Mike has apologised for what he's done, and now you're throwing personal cracks at him, which may I add, have _no place _here."

Tutuola glowered down at Amaro. "He may have eaten our doughnuts, but he's still a human being . . ."

Cutter began to feel a light pain in the left side of his body.

_Oh no, not again. _

He had noticed he had been experiencing similar pains in the past few weeks.

It had had started off quite gradually with imperceptible twinges, before amounting in waves of intense pain over the next couple of minutes. The room began to spin before he found himself crouched onto the floor clutching a hand to his chest in agony.

And then there was silence.

The group of detectives watched in horror and despair.

"I can't breathe," Cutter forced through a pressured gasp, looking at them pleadingly.

"Oh my God, I think he's having a heart attack," Cabot exclaimed frantically, dropping her briefcase to the floor before kneeling next to Cutter to assist him. "Somebody call an ambulance."

**What do you think so far? Feel free to comment:-) **


	2. Chapter 2

16th Precinct, Special Victims' Unit, Manhattan, NY

Captain Cragen emerged from his office. "I've just received news from the D.A.'s Office updating us on Bureau Chief Michael Cutter's current condition," he announced to the team of detectives. "As you are all aware, Mr. Cutter suffered a heart attack the other day, which many of you witnessed in this very precinct. He is in a stable condition after receiving surgery. With that established, he will require a two week recuperation period."

The room full of officers spoke quietly amongst themselves.

"So if Cutter's out for two weeks, who's going to take over the Harahan case?" Munch piped up above the hubbub.

"I have spoken to the D.A., and he made it clear that after the added circumstantial evidence we discovered last week, Cabot is quite willing and capable in taking over the case. She will also be filling in Cutter's political duties."

Benson stood behind her desk. "Rollins and I have prepared a card for Mike," she announced, placing the card on her desk. "So if you could all sign it, it would be appreciated."

St. John's Queens Hospital, NY

Detectives Benson and Rollins approached the reception desk towards the end of the corridor, making their way down K Ward.

"Hi we're here to see Michael Cutter," Rollin's enquired.

"Are you family?" a surly nurse questioned authoritatively, biting her bottom lip as she visually summed up the two women, peering over a pair of reading glasses.

Benson and Rollins exchanged glances.

"Well yes, we are," Rollins lied confidently.

"Tell me then, why do you ladies have guns in your holsters?" she asked suspiciously.

Rollins paused for a moment, glancing at the nurse's identification card reading the name _Ramona_. "Well Ramona, ah . . ."

"We're with the NYPD," Benson cut in, showing Ramona her badge.

"Ah, I see crime fighting runs in the family. I understand that your brother works for the District Attorney's Office?"

"That's right."

Ramona took a moment to admire the bunch of blue petal roses and sweet _Get-Well-Soon_ teddy-bear that Rollins was holding.

"I have a lot of respect for police officers," Ramona explained, her dark chocolate eyes lighting up warmly. "My brother's a cop."

"So can we see him?" Rollin's wanted to know. "_Our_ brother I mean."

"Absolutely," Ramona replied obligingly, consulting the computer monitor in front to her. "I can't say I care too much for lawyers though." She continued to make small talk as she tapped her fingers on the keyboard. "But your brother is a real cutie. Nice eyes." _Cute ass too_, she thought to herself, recalling tending his sponge bath that morning. She soon learned that his face wasn't the only place that had dimples.

Benson stifled a laugh. "We'll be sure to tell him that."

"Mr. Cutter is in room 214," Ramona informed them, it's down the hall to the right.

They thanked her quietly before making their way down the corridor.

Benson knocked on the door of room 214.

"Come in," a weary man's voice called out to them.

Benson and Rollins entered.

"How you holding up, sunshine?" Benson exclaimed cheerfully, making her way towards Cutter's bed before holding him in a firm embrace and kissing him on the cheek.

Rollins followed suit.

Both women took their seats beside his bed.

"We brought you these, from all of us at SVU," Rollins said, placing the flowers and stuffed bear on the end of his bed. "We would have brought you a box of candy, but given the circumstances, it's probably not a good idea." She reached into the back pocket of her pants. "Oh and we brought you this," she said, handing him an envelope containing the card that everybody had signed for him.

"That's very kind of you," he said softly, feeling slightly embarrassed by all the attention. "You ladies didn't have to come all the way down here and do that." He removed the card from the envelope.

"No, but we wanted to," Benson said resolutely, staring intently into his eyes, her hand clasping onto his arm.

Cutter opened the friendly greeting card. Splayed across both pages were warm-hearted messages from the team of detectives. A small smile formed on his lips as he took time to read every one of them. Tutuola's words caught his attention the most. _Get well soon you fat bastard, _he had written in good humour, followed by a smiley face.

"You know, I hear from Cabot that the lawyer's down at the Gavel Bar are all missing you," Rollins said enthusiastically.

Cutter rolled his eyes and stared out of the window. "Yeah, well I don't think I'll be drinking for a while," he said, distain in his voice. "Unless I switch to red wine."

"You know ah, we're glad you're okay," Benson said sincerely. "You had us pretty scared for a while." She placed her jacket over her lap, not wanting him to see her enlarged thighs as she sat down. They had turned into giant tree trunks, she had thought.

Cabot was right about Michael Cutter. He was a very attractive man. Other women who worked with him would have attested to that.

"And we want you back in the courtroom as soon as possible," Rollins added.

Benson remembered in detail the very first day she had met him. She and her then partner, Detective Stabler, had payed a visit to the District Attorney's Office, requiring assistance from the Homicide Department with the infant murder case they had been working on. The minute Benson walked through the door of his office on that gusty afternoon, she had forgotten all about the turmoil of that day, and found herself immersed, drowning, in the blue of his eyes. For some reason, seeing the handsome EADA pacing around his office with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and swinging around a baseball bat as he scribbled notes on a white board, caused a giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She recalled they had taken their seats at a round table placed in the middle of his office. They examined the details of the case, discussion regarding the officers' summation soon leading to light banter about baseball scores. It was then that Cutter's stick-insect of an assistant interrupted them, reminding him that they were due in court in ten minutes. A week later, Benson had found herself making excuses to visit Cabot's office at every opportunity, just to catch another glimpse of the charming attorney, if she was so lucky to have him pass her way.

Today, Benson had hardly recognised him. In bed dressed in a hospital gown, tubes running through his arms as he lay there tiredly, remnants of morphine bringing a shine to his eyes, his expression pallor and miserable. She was tempted to reach her hand over and brush his out of his eyes.

The three of them were startled by the rumble of loud thunder outside.

"Sounds like a storm's on its way," Rollins commented, breaking the silence.

"It's going to pour later," Cutter said, his voice raspy. "I've been so bored here, I've resorted to watching the weather channel." He sat up to place the card on the nightstand next to him once he had finished reading all the comments and well wishes that had been written by the detectives. He noticed that the only person who _hadn't_ written in the card was Detective Amaro. "You two had better head off soon. You don't want to catch pneumonia."

"Is that your way of telling us clear off?" Benson joked.

It wouldn't be so bad if we did catch pneumonia," Rollin's said. "Then we could stay in hospital and keep you company."

There was another knock at the door.

Ramona and Cabot entered the room.

"You have another visitor Mr. Cutter," Ramona informed him. "You're so lucky to have such kind sisters who come and visit you." She turned to Benson and Rollins. "Also, Mr. Cutter is only allowed two visitors at any one time, so I would suggest one of you leave the room for now."

"Actually, we were just leaving," Benson informed her, standing from her seat. "We need to get back to the squad room." She patted Cutter on the arm. "Good to see you again."

"Oh, pleasure was all mine," Cutter responded teasingly, wanting to pick up the teddy bear that Rollins had left on his bed, and throw it at Benson's engorged behind, but found that he wasn't mean enough to do that.

Both Benson and Rollins said their goodbyes, leaving a startled Cabot lingering at Cutter's bedside. Her eyes followed the two women as they left the room.

"They left in a hurry," she observed.

An amused smile played on Cutter's lips. "She's got a crush on me," he said knowingly.

"Who does?"

"Benson."

"Well, I don't know of any women who wouldn't." She sat herself down on one of the chairs beside him. "Except for Serena and I, of course."

"Spare me your complements. I bet you lesbians are having a better time than I am."

"I'm glad to hear you still have a sense of humour."

He sighed mournfully. "You've got a great gal there Alex, you make sure you hold onto her. Don't let her slip from your fingers," he told her. "I was stupid. Don't you be."

Cabot paused for a moment before she replied. "You're talking about Connie Rubirosa, right?" She picked up the teddy bear on his bed, and placed it on the nightstand. "Have you spoken to her at all after her move L.A.?"

"No, she's got her own life now. That's what happens. People come and go. I'll get over it."

"It's been almost a year now since Connie left. If you were to ever get over it, you would have by now."

Cutter didn't answer.

"You and Connie were not only good work mates, you were friends as well. I know that if I moved to the other side of the country, and my friends never contacted me, I would be discouraged. And if one of my friends had a heart attack, I would want to hear from them," she said. "You should call her and let her know what's been happening. I'm sure she would be very pleased to hear that you're a bureau chief now."

Mike scoffed indignantly. "While I'm here having two coronary pumps and stent shoved into my heart, Connie's over there probably half-way down the aisle with some Californian body-builder by now!"

"No, I think Connie would be way too smart to marry one of those," Cabot assured him. "But it's up to you to find out."

/

Reviews most welcome:-D

xxoo


	3. Chapter 3

**Manhattan County District Attorney's Office, NY**

**Office of Bureau Chief Michael Cutter**

Cutter could not have had a more superb companion and colleague than he had in Olivier Benson, and apart from her excellent detective skills and tenacity in pursuing justice, she had been so supportive of him following his near death experience that he could not have returned to his duties as Bureau Chief as soon as he did without her. Having heard along the grapevine that she was worth the work of at least two officers, as well as quite the looker (he had recalled Joe Crowley from narcotics state that he liked a bit of meat on his woman), he was most pleased to find that Benson had steadfastly proven that declaration to the full. However, he had pondered about her motive in assisting him to the extent that she did. Why was _he_ so special? He recalled when ADA Casey Novak broken her ankle at a squash tournament, Benson didn't rush so hastily to _her _aid. And he couldn't help but notice how close those two were, so close in fact that when he had first started taking on his new role in the office, the thought of them being a couple was not inconceivable to him. After all, he knew very well that half the women in the force were lesbians, as well as a dozen in his office.

His thoughts had been broken by a loud knock at the door.

"Hey Mike," a spritely Cabot greeted him that morning, laden with two cups of coffee. She handed him one of them. "Here you go. Low fat, no sugar, right? Just like your doctor told you."

He looked up at her from his desk, taking the coffee from her. "Right." He winced, taking a sip of the acrid brown liquid.

"You know, there are some low fat salmon cakes in the break room," she told him. She chuckled, after taking a sip of her own coffee. "You'll never guess who left them there."

Cutter rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Olivia Benson," he answered, a note of distain in his voice. But that wasn't to so say that he disliked her all together.

Cabot smiled wryly. "They're high in omega-3, so she says."

"Who needs the Easter Bunny?"

"Don't you like all the attention Benson has been giving you?" Cabot said teasingly.

He shot her a look of annoyance. "She's good to go to a game with, but that's as far as it goes." He was making it blatantly obvious that he was not at all interested in Benson's advances.

"Oh, give the poor woman a chance!" Cabot insisted, sounding very amused. "She obviously has a thing for you."

Cutter had become surprised by how much fun he and Cabot had together. Detectives Lupo and Bernard, whom he had touched base with from time to time, had at first thought it erroneous for him to be gallivanting with such an attractive woman, as he had himself. They considered it in the realms of the imponderable, not harbouring feelings outside the union of a platonic friendship with this woman, feelings that of course could not be reciprocated. But they had reached the understanding of a comfortable partition and a solid camaraderie, which is just what Cabot had provided. He could speak with her as the mood took him. When he had not been eating properly, she brought him fresh meals from the salad bar on 8th street, and chose dressings to disguise the blandness of the food to encourage his eating it. He had accompanied Cabot and her partner, Serena, to bridal stores the week the state of New York passed the Gay Marriage initiative. Both she and Benson were always ready to see a movie with him, or head to the batting cages on sunny afternoons. They fought like spoiled children over what high-profile cases to prosecute. They had indeed likened to a brother and sister whose parents had gone out for a very long dinner, and left them to their own devices.

Cutter shrugged. "I don't get involved with co-workers. Not romantically anyway," he said strongly, making the statement clear with her. "It's not right. I would never put any woman in such a precarious position."

"So you keep saying," Cabot agreed obligingly. She paused for a moment, taking a seat opposite his desk. "What about Connie?"

"What about her?"

"You had a thing with her didn't you, before she moved to L.A.?"

"Nothing ever happened between us," he defended. "Nor should it have."

"But you _did_ have feelings for her? You're no longer colleagues, what's the harm." Cabot's eyes were searching. "Have you called her like you said you would?"

Cutter sighed as he leaned on his desk. "I'm pretty sure she would have moved on by now," he said. "She'd think it strange hearing from an old boss after a year of no prior contact."

"I'm sure Connie would like to hear from you," Cabot enthused, fed up with Cutter's self-loathing rhetoric. "She might be surprised, but that's not to say she would hate it."

"What would my motive be? She would be put off by some stale old schlub, still grabbing onto something we _almost_ had."

"Is that how you see yourself?"

There was a long pause.

"Well let's face it, I'm past it." His voice was very sanguine. "Almost fifty, haven't had a date in months. That mousy little therapist down and Victims' Services doesn't look twice at me anymore. I'm not as fit as I used to be, and a trip to the E.R. attested that."

Cabot's eyebrows arched in sympathy. "Oh Mike, give yourself some credit."

"Alex, I know what you're trying to do." He stood from his chair and made his way towards the rounded table placed in the middle of his large office, dropping a file full of case-notes onto it before sitting down. "Can we please talk about something else?"

Cabot soon joined Cutter, taking a seat opposite him. _Time to get down to business._

He glanced up at her, re-establishing eye-contact. "So Alex, what are you doing for Easter?" He asked her, genuinely interested.

"Oh, Serena's niece and nephew are staying with us over Easter."

"You'll be busy."

"Her brother and his wife, Carol, are heading to Connecticut on business," she explained. "Our friends Kyle and Mathew and their little girl are also coming over, so Serena and I have planned an Easter egg hunt for the kids."

Cutter smiled warmly. "Sounds like fun."

"You're more than welcome to come," she assured him. "If you don't mind rug-rats wiping their sticky hands all over you."

Cutter chuckled. "Na, I think I'll pass thank you."

/

For Cutter, spring was no different from the winter. He worked fourteen-hour days, he went to the bars on his nights off, which had often left him feeling guilty after his most recent wake-up call, and he sat on his couch watching Sports Centre at the weekend, either alone, or with one persistent female detective. At first, he had felt apprehensive about contacting his former colleague, Connie Rubirosa.

The two biggest changes in his life since her leaving New York were that he was no longer attractive to most women, and his promotion.

He reflected back on a witness he had encountered from one of his past cases as EADA of homicide, Janice Dunlap from the Sweetie Ness case. For once in his life he had become vaguely familiar with what it would be like to walk in her shoes. _'People have been telling you to get lost your entire life'_ he recalled saying to the puffy and teary-eyed young woman sitting behind the witness stand. That would be him from now on. Every time he winked at a cute law student at a bar, a security guard would threaten him on grounds of sexual harassment.

Thoughts of Connie's perfect cheekbones and wide smile entered his mind. He felt his hand shaking with anticipation as he dialled her number on his blackberry.

"H-hello, Connie. It's Mike, Mike Cutter. I called to say happy Easter."

_What else could he say?_

"Oh, I thought I recognised that voice," a joyous woman's voice said into the receiver. "Happy Easter to you too!"

At least she sounded happy to hear from him. He considered that she would most probably be merry from having a few drinks, remembering how much she would get into the holiday spirit, a wry smile playing on his lips. He felt a rush of warmth through his body hearing her voice once again.

"So you've heard I'm back in town then?" she asked, sounding pleased.

_Back in town? _He felt a flutter of excitement and a pang of dread both at the same time.

"Ah, yeah," he said quietly. "I haven't called at the wrong time, have I?"

"No, no, no, my sister and I were just on our way to the Easter parade in Central Park."

Cutter heard her quickly converse in Spanish with her sister.

"So were you wanting to catch up?" he asked her.

"Absolutely," she obliged enthusiastically. "I'm in New York for two weeks, so we have plenty of time. But, if you're not too busy, do you want to meet us at the parade today?"

Cutter didn't know how to respond. "Yeah, that would be great." He felt the words quickly escape his mouth before he could think.

There was an awkward pause.

"Mike, we have so much catching up to do!"

_**Reviews most welcome xxxxx**_

_Happy Easter everyone!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Manhattan Annual Easter Parade, Central Park, NY, 10.00am.**

Mike hadn't realised what a pleasant day it was until he found himself immersed in such an uplifting joyous crowd of people. Lately, he had been feeling rather _down in the dumps_, as his Uncle Charlie would have put it. Working hard all of his life, living through his work, the years of pouring over crime scene photos and listening to witness statements had not only hardened his shell, but had made him miserable. He wasn't sure whether it was the tranquil spring bloom of Central Park, or the warm festivity happening within it, but for the first time in months, he took contentment in just being. He noticed a calming breeze rustle through the trees, their branches now formed into rich canopies of lush leaves, as he listened to the sounds of baby birds chirping a sweet melody. The sun's reflection glistened in the remnant pools of water, dwindling aftermath of the thaw, scattered throughout the park. He was surrounded by a plush green, the grass very similar to the rolling hills of New Zealand.

The serenity was soon disrupted by a reckless young cyclist, carelessly speeding through the crowd, his bicycle helmet positioned to the side of his head with the straps unclasped. Mike quickly jumped to the side to avoid being knocked over.

"Sorry dude!" the youth called out to him, noticing the older man's distress, as he raced towards the footpath.

Mike assumed that the cyclist was headed towards the skate park located near the lake.

"Mike, are you okay?" he heard a familiar voice call out to him amongst the crowd.

He whirled around to see her push her way through the crowd towards him, his expression warming when he realised it was Connie.

"That guy on the bicycle should have watched where he was going," she said, once she had caught up with him.

/

Mike and Connie had coffee that afternoon. They agreed to meet at a small café located on the corner of 72nd Street, in-between a charming florist that sold aromatic Easter baskets filled with hot cross buns, as well as an assortment of colourful eggs wrapped in silver paper, and chocolate bunnies. And a news stand that displayed those real life magazines that read headlines like _I chopped off my legs, and lost 30 pounds! _and_ I had my baby in a public restroom_, where Mike had quickly picked up the New York Times before meeting with Connie.

Mike sipped his low fat latte as he listened to Connie's stories of L.A.

"I feel so lucky to have my brother Ricky helping out. I was beside myself when I received a call from the hospital after my mom had an allergic reaction to the medication."

"Wait, I thought Ricky was your sister."

Connie stifled a laugh after taking a sip of her cappuccino. "Well, you're not entirely wrong there. I guess you could say he's more of a sister to me than a brother," she joked with a crooked smile.

"It's just that all the time we were working together, you've always talked about Ricky, and Ricky's partner _Paul_. I assumed that she, I mean he . . ."

Connie laughed as Mike fumbled over his words. "It's okay Mike, don't worry about it."

She was both surprised and gladdened that she could have such a carefree and open conversation with a man she once strictly viewed as her boss. The one good thing about leaving Manhattan and no longer working with Mike was that she could talk to him about things she would otherwise think twice about. She often found herself opening her mouth to say something, only to have her trusty scruples bringing her back to reality. _No Connie, you don't tell your boss about how you once dropped a piece of toast on the floor and still ate it, or about that time you and your girlfriends got so drunk in Miami you pissed in an orchard, no matter how much of a laugh he might get from it. And you certainly do not talk to the people you work with about your sexual encounters, religious affiliations, or political beliefs. _Politics was particularly difficult to avoid, especially given that she worked for the city.

She glanced out of the window of the small café, now pleased to have a clear view, after the people sitting there had moved away. She didn't like the change in weather though. The sky had become completely overcast with grey clouds, threatening the onset of heavy rain. Despite the gloom outside, she felt a flush of warmth overcome her. That warmth was familiarity.

_Ah, I'm in New York._

A playful smile crept on Mike's face. "You know what I remember?"

"What?"

"Van Buren's party."

Connie dipped her biscotti into her cappuccino, avoiding Mike's notorious piercing glance. "Oh yeah, that's a night I'll never forget." She glanced up, distracted by the two boys on skate boards that had just entered the café. "Actually, that's a lie. I don't remember much of it at all."

His voice had a roguish hue to it. "Who'd have thought you'd be such a party girl, _Ms. Rubirosa . . ._'

Their conversation had been disrupted by the loud clatter of the cafe's tip jar crashing to the ground.

Onlookers watched as the youths with skate boards scrambled to pick up the cash that had been littered onto the floor.

"_Ai, get outta here you little shits!_" yelled an angry barista. "_Before I call the cops."_

The room turned silent.

"Make us!" one of the youths shouted back, removing a pocket knife from his torn and baggy jeans.

The two young men loaded the remainder of the contents of the broken tip jar into their pockets, before grabbing trays full of muffins and brownies that had been left on the counter by one of the bakers, and fleeing the scene.

A waitress emerged from the back room, rolling her eyes sardonically as she set about sweeping the broken glass into a pile with a broom. She muttered something under her breath to the barista, the workers sharing a private joke.

Such an incident didn't seem new to these employees. Nor did it seem to bother the other customers, most likely regulars, for that matter.

The silence was soon replaced by the same dim hubbub that had filled the room before the reckless thugs entered its premises. Everything was back to normal for this busy little eatery.

Mike and Connie exchanged astounded looks.

"Welcome back to New York," Mike said.

"Na ah, you want to see crime?" Connie corrected him teasingly. "You should catch the next flight to L.A."

At that moment, Mike felt his blackberry vibrating in his pants pockets.

"Mike Cutter speaking."

"Hey Mike, it's Casey Novak. I'm sorry to intrude on your weekend, but it's about the Corrigan case."

Mike nodded a signal to Connie, before excusing himself to the other side of the room.

"There's been a breakthrough in evidence," Casey told him. "Another victim has come forward."

"That's good news. Will they testify?"

"Hold on," she cut him off. "The attack happened _after _Vincent Corrigan was held in custody. Either he has an accomplice, or SVU's had the wrong guy all along . . . How soon can you get down here?"

Mike glanced over at Connie stirring Equal into her drink, and flicked through the menu next to her, waiting for his return.

"Give me twenty minutes."

Connie looked up from her menu, watching as Mike slid his blackberry back into his pants pocket. Her face lit up as he made his way towards their table.

"I'm thinking of getting the potato bake with a side of pumpkin salad," she told him, her eyes skimming through the menu. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, noticing the distain in his expression. "Everything okay?"

"I'm sorry Connie, I need to get down to my office."

She closed her menu she had been reading and put it to the side. "Happens at the worst time, doesn't it?"

"No, no, you stay and enjoy your lunch."

**Reviews most welcome:-D**

A/N: I've always found writing Mike/Connie fics a challenge, so I hope this chapter's okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**1 Hogan Place, Manhattan, NY**

The dreary spring rain pelted Manhattan for the remainder of that afternoon. It was a good thing the Easter parade had finished earlier than expected, Cutter had thought.

He hurried towards the front entrance of the building, sheltering himself from the heavy downpour with a folded newspaper.

"Hey Mike," he heard Casey Novak's gravelly voice call out to him from behind.

He turned around to see her hurry across the street holding a red umbrella over her head. He didn't recognise her for a moment, dressed casually in a yellow tunic top and peasant skirt.

She shared her umbrella with him once they had met.

"Detective Benson and Ms. Dunlap should be waiting for us upstairs outside your office," she informed him, as they entered the building of the District Attorney's Office. "A rape kit was taken last night after the victim was admitted to hospital. The results should be in by now."

"Where did it happen?"

She stopped for a moment to read through a file that was clasped in her arm. "Central Park by the lake, according to the victim's statement. Forensics is yet to cover the crime scene."

"Wait, isn't that near that new skate park they've built?" Mike wondered.

"Skate park?" Novak bunched the buttons at the elevator. She referred to her notes once again. "I don't know, but according to the victim's statement, the perp was a complete stranger. Also, four witnesses were reported at the scene . . ."

/

"I know it's taken lot for you to come in today, but there are just a few things that Michael Cutter wants to clear up with you regarding the case," Olivia said to the solemn young woman walking along side her, as they briskly made their way along the corridor.

The young woman's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Michael Cutter's prosecuting this case? But I thought that red haired lady was."

Benson consoled the young woman, concerned by her sudden panic. "Michael Cutter is our division's Bureau Chief," she informed her calmly. "Given the current circumstances of this case, he'll be taking over from Ms Novak. Is there something wrong, Janice?"

"I was a witness in a murder case of his when I was visiting New York a couple of years back, and things turned kind of sour. You may have heard of it, the Cody Larson trial?"

Benson took a moment "Yes, I am familiar with that case. That was the murder of a gay writer, wasn't it?"

"_His name is Sweetie!"_ Janice exclaimed indignantly before quickly recollecting herself. "Sorry."

Benson was taken aback by her abrupt outburst. "That's okay."

Benson glanced past Janice's shoulder to see Cutter and Novak head towards them from the opened doors of the elevator.

"I'm sorry for the delay," Cutter apologised. "I was held up."

"No problem," Benson replied. She set about introductions. "Janice, you know Casey Novak. Mike, I would like you to meet Janice Dunlap, although from what Janice has just told me, you're already quite familiar with each other."

Mike had thought there was something familiar about the name when he had quickly flicked through the file notes in the elevator.

"Of course." Mike put his hand forward in a firm handshake. "I'm sorry we've had to meet again under these circumstances."

He guided the three women into his office.

He relished that despite her homely face, dressed in a gathered floral print dress, with a corn flower blue cardigan, and a pair of coral satin pumps, Janice made for quite the feminine silhouette.

"Please Ms. Dunlap, take a seat," he said offering her a chair. "I'm sure Detective Benson has filled you in on what our meeting will be about."

/

"I cut through Central Park, since the street I needed to get to was right on the other side," Janice told them. "I got kind of lost, and then these three guys turned up out of nowhere."

"Can you tell us what they looked like?" Benson asked.

Janice gazed out of the window, staring down at the city below as she took a moment to collect her thoughts. There were so many people out there it was hard to know exactly who she could trust. "I don't know, it was pretty dark . . . But I remember one of them was wearing a bicycle helmet."

Mike's ears pricked up.

"What about height, race, clothes they were wearing?" Novak pressed. "Any distinguishing features?"

"One guy was Hispanic looking, I think, and he had a blue streak through his hair. They were all wearing baggy clothes."

"Skater get up," Cutter mumbled, as he scribble notes on a notepad. "What age do you think they were?"

Janice shrugged. "They seemed like high school kids, except for the guy with the bicycle helmet. I think he was older, maybe in his twenties. He was taller too, over six feet." She stared down at the floor for a moment, feeling tears pricking the brims of her eyes. She quickly recollected herself, reflecting upon the words she had been telling herself ever since she stepped off the plane at JFK. _If she wanted to live in New York, she had to be tough. _"I feel so stupid. I shouldn't have left my apartment."

"Janice, this in no way your fault," Benson told her. "Those boys violated you. It was very courageous of you to come forward in helping us bring them to justice."

"I work from home for the finance department of the auxiliary museum downtown. I only leave my apartment unless I have to," Janice continued. "I have my groceries delivered, and I do everything else like pay my bills online. So I only go out on the rarest of occasions."

"So what's your reason for leaving your apartment last night?" Cutter wanted to know.

"I had some overdue library books I needed to return." A nervous laugh escaped her mouth. "I've been putting it off."

Cutter raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Library books?"

"Yeah. Well, the library has been having some technical difficulties with their internet account system, so online members have had to borrow books manually," she explained. "My personal deliverer has been sick with the flu for the past few days, so I had to return them myself."

He frowned in puzzlement. "Why so late at night?" he questioned. "I assume your reluctance to leave your apartment stems from a fear of personal safety. Don't you think it's kind of dangerous for a young woman to walk the streets of New York alone in the dark?"

"I haven't thought about that," she admitted. "I moved here from Iowa about three months ago. I'm still getting used to living in such a big city."

"These are things that the defence is going to want to know," he reminded her.

Though his zealous demeanour was somewhat overwhelming, Janice could detect the sincerity in his voice. She stared away from him for a moment to avoid his piercing gaze. "I don't leave my apartment not so much for safety reasons, but so that people don't notice me. I go out at night because I don't want people to see my face."

Benson exchanged a sympathetic glance with Novak.

"Another option is to put a paper bag over my head," Janice tried to joke.

Cutter scribbled some final notes down on his notepad. "Thank you Ms. Dunlap. I think we're done for now," he said. "We'll keep in touch."

Detective Benson escorted Janice out of the room.

"Contact Detectives Rollins and Tutuola, tell them to search Central Park Lake," he said to Novak. "Be sure they cover all bases. See if they can get any information from onlookers." He heard his blackberry vibrating on his desk, and rushed to answer it. "Mike Cutter."

"Mike, its Connie."

He was surprised but gladdened to hear her voice. "Hi Connie, how was lunch?"

"Oh Mike, thank goodness you answered, I've been trying to call you." She was dismayed after not being able to get in contact with her sister, but then remembered her saying that there was an Easter special at the tanning salon, so assumed that she had probably been inside a solarium for the past hour. "Marisol isn't answering her phone either."

He was disturbed by the sudden worry in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"No, I am not okay!" By this point, Connie sounded more angry than frantic. "I was walking through Central Park, to get back Marisol's apartment, and those two boys – you know the ones that came into the café this afternoon and caused a disturbance, I recognised them – they pushed me into the lake. I swam to the other side to get away from them. By the time I pulled myself out of the water, they caught up with me and pelted me with rotten eggs, like it was some sick joke!"

"Are you hurt?"

Aside from the grazes on her elbows and forearms she had attained from pulling herself from the lake, she was fine. She probably looked a right fool, struggling to heave herself onto the muddy bank and out of the water. It was a good thing she knew how to swim!

"No."

Connie stopped for a moment, feeling something wriggling in her jeans pockets. She dug her hands into her pockets, feeling something slimy touch her fingers as she turned the pockets inside out, shocked to find small fish flop to the ground.

_Ugh, disgusting!_

"My phone's dead though, and my _purse is ruined_." She pulled a picnic rug, which had been lent to her by a kind elderly couple, closely around her shoulders, feeling the chill of the air on her wet clothes. They obliged her borrowing it, seeing as their picnic had been ruined by the rain anyway. "But a nice man has let me use his phone . . ."

"Connie, where are you?"

"Strawberry Fields." she told him. "At the risk of sounding like a damsel in distress, I don't know how I'm supposed to get back to my sister's place. My wallet must have come out of my purse when I was in the water, because I can't find it anywhere." She tipped her sodden purse upside down, disheartened to find only her keys and more fish fall onto the soft grass in front of her.

He sighed with relief knowing that she was safe. He quickly placed his notepad in his desk drawer, and headed towards the door of his office. "Stay where you are. I'll meet you there."

"Oh and Mike, I'm under a white tarpaulin, you can't miss it."

She handed the phone back to the bearded man who had lent it to her.

"Was that your bou?" the man enquired with enthusiasm. "A pretty lady like you shouldn't be spending the day by herself."

Connie smiled at the man's compliment. His words weren't alien to her, but she couldn't understand how she was a _pretty lady_ when she was covered from head to toe in green algae. "Oh, no, no, he's a friend . . . I guess."

"If you don't mind staying a while, would you like to try some of my wife's tuna and corn sandwiches?" He offered the plate up to her.

The elderly couple, Tom and Irene, who had lent Connie their picnic rug, soon returned to their newly found picnic spot, laden with cups of coffee they had bought from the nearby kiosk. Irene handed one to Connie. "Hear you are dear, this should warm you up in no time."

/

**A/N: I'm not meaning to pick on skaters in this story, I just thought it would make for an interesting subplot. Thanks everyone who has reviewed:-D**


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Connie had noticed as she and Mike neared the outside of his brownstone was the smell. There was fresh paint, wood, and the faint scent of the potted white gardenia perched on the windowsill. It was very pleasant, and the lighting, helped by the dull gleam of sunlight that peeped in and out from behind the clouds now and then, was soft, subtle. A slight breeze moved the chimes hanging above their heads, the gentle ringing of their metal rods causing Connie to look up and notice them. Things had changed since the last time she had been there. Her brown eyes had softened despite shivering from her cold and sopping clothes, which were now clinging to her like cooked pasta to a wall.

Mike opened the creaky door to his dwelling and ushered Connie inside. He had led her to the lounge room located at the rear of his home, before showing her a radiator where she could dry off. He left her to her own devices for the while as he prepared tea in the kitchenette downstairs.

Connie stripped off her soaking jeans and shirt and hung them on the railing above the radiator, allowing them to dry. It was then that she noticed the matching frilly bra and panties also hanging on the railing next to her own clothes, almost staggering backwards in fright seeing them. _Who could they belong to?_ She had wondered. Mike hadn't mentioned being involved with anyone, least of all her. She cursed herself for being so nosey. She knew it was none of her business.

She heard Mike's footsteps approaching the doorway, and quickly scrambled for the throw rug that was draped across the loveseat and wrapped it around herself, not wanting to be caught half naked by her ex-boss in his apartment.

Mike reemerged with two steaming mugs. "You can sit down," he told her in amusement, curious as to why she hadn't as yet. He handed her one of the mugs of tea. "Here you are, hot and sweet." _Just like you._

"Oh, thank you," she said, sounding almost out of breath as she reached for it. She began to feel the rug slipping from her shoulders and tightened it around her with her free hand, before sitting down in relief. _Phew, that was a close one._

He was puzzled by Connie's flustered behavior. "Everything okay?"

"I-I'm fine Mike. I just thought I'd let my clothes dry off a bit. You don't mind, do you?"

"No of course not. Wise move actually, you wouldn't want to catch a cold," he reassured her. "I can lend you some clothes to wear home if you like."

"Ah okay. Thanks."

Mike checked the time on his watch. "Which will have to be soon I'm afraid. I'm meeting Bayard Ellis this evening," he explained. "He's a defense lawyer . . ."

"I know who Bayard Ellis is," she said with slight distaste. She blew on the surface of her drink to help cool it down. "Work?"

"No. We're playing a game for charity."

Connie was interested. "Really, which one?"

"Well, it's not exactly a charity. We're raising funds for the Objection of Objectifying Women Campaign," he explained. "It's last minute, but these things must go on. And there's no escaping these political functions now that I'm Bureau Chief."

"Sounds like a worthwhile cause," she rationalized, taking a sip from her mug.

"Yes it is. You know, Ellis is a great guy once you get to know him."

"Hm, this is good tea, what blend is this?"

"Ah, I'm not sure," he said honestly with a nervous laugh. "I got it at this health food store in Queens. The woman who sold it to me said it was good for the cardiovascular system, although I couldn't understand all that she was saying." Mike paused there, deciding not to tell Connie about the heart attack. "I'm sorry us meeting up had to be cut short," he apologized sincerely. "You said you were in New York for a couple weeks. What are you doing next Friday evening?"

Mike hated making promises that he couldn't keep, but felt that it was better than rushing Connie out of his apartment without follow up.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Some friends from work and I wanted to try new place I want to try, will you join us?"

She responded with a delighted smile. "I would love to."

"Great, meet around seven?"

After another session of chatting about old times, Connie had left wearing a pair of Mike's borrowed sweats and a t-shirt. She just hoped she didn't meet people she knew on her way home, not looking her normally sharp self. She made her way towards the end of the curb where she hailed a cab.

Knowing the man that Mike was, Connie was aware that there were things in his life that he preferred to keep private. The underwear in Mike's apartment left her feeling confused. Now that they were no longer working with each other, and were more friends than colleagues after sharing the day together, she couldn't think why, if Mike now had a serious girlfriend, he didn't mention her.

It was awfully prying of her, but she was curious. She wondered just how long this had been going on with this woman. Was it someone she knew? Working for the criminal justice system herself, Connie knew that there was little time for dates outside of work, and couldn't help but wonder if Mike had been seeing someone at the DA's Office.

/

Mike opened the door to see Bayard Ellis dressed in a long kaki trench coat.

"Hey Cutter ma man," he bellowed with cheer, exchanging a firm embrace with the other man.

Mike guided Ellis into his home, closing the door behind him.

Ellis pulled open his trench coat, exposing his bloated torso, dressed in a floral padded bra and matching panties. "Have you got your costume ready?"

Both men were chuckling as they headed down the hallway.

"Almost," Mike replied. "It's drying in the lounge. I thought I'd better wash them first. The only thing is I think they've shrunk." He removed the frilly panties from the railing above the radiator and flung them at Ellis.

Ellis nearly fell onto the glass coffee table behind him in a fit of laughter, wondering how Mike would fit into such a tiny garment, especially given his recent weight gain. "You can't be serious man!"

Mike handed him a beer. "I admit it will be a tight squeeze," he grimaced.

Ellis winced. "You think you've got problems? At least you're not wearing a thong. This thing's chaffing like there's no tomorrow and that's just from walking from my car to your apartment. How am I supposed to make a home run in these?"

"I don't know, but seeing David Hayden in a snap-crotch teddy will be all worth it in the end. I hear he's been very successful with sponsoring."

"You know Mike, it's Detective Munch I feel sorry for. He's wearing that chemise with stilettos. Hope he doesn't break an ankle." He chuffed. "Who'd have thought of it hey? Lingerie baseball. Who came up with the idea anyway?"

"Amanda Rollins from SVU did," Mike informed him. "Apparently the men in her home town in Atlanta organized a lingerie baseball league to raise funds for cancer research."

/

A/N: I'm not too sure whether I'm writing the Mike and Connie interactions right. The scene where they're in Mike's apartment seems really over-friendly in some parts, and stilted in others:/


	7. Chapter 7

16th Precinct, Special Victims' Unit, Manhattan, NY

"Olivia, are we having a threesome or not?"

Olivia folded her arms with distaste. "We can't now with what Mike's got. He's all yours Alex."

"Well I don't want him now that he's _faulty!_"

"Neither do I."

"Wait a minute, I have an idea." Mike declared.

Both women turned to face him, a glimmer of hope in their eyes.

"Why don't you ladies do each other, while I watch."

Alex balled her fist, clearly offended. "Pervert!"

Mike turned to Olivia, hoping that she would be a little more sympathetic. "Any better ideas?"

"There's only one way to settle this," Olivia announced stridently, hands on her hips. "Mike, you're out of the team."

Mike slumped in disappointment. "Oh, that's how it is? All girls together . . ."

Manhattan County District Attorney's Office, NY

Office of Bureau Chef Michael Cutter

"Mike, we have a proposition." Alex folded her arms. "Stop your crying and turn around. We're willing to reconsider."

Olivia strode towards him. "Where do you want to start big guy, your desk or the floor?"

"Oh, by the fire place would be good!" Alex chimed in with enthusiasm.

Mike rested against the windowsill, hands in his pockets. "It doesn't matter anymore." He bowed his head with embarrassment. "I lost my Viagra in court. I think Marvin Exley picked it up."

"Well you have to get it back," Alex demanded. "How else are we going to play this?"

"Sorry girls, maybe you can have a party with Exley instead," he apologised, having lost all hope.

Alex and Olivia exchanged bemused glances.

"Come on Mike, You can't give up that easily. You made a bet with Bayard Ellis don't forget," Olivia reminded him.

/

Alex watched Exley leave the courtroom and make his way down the marbled corridor. She followed him stealthily, Mike following closely behind.

"You owe me for this one, Mike," she muttered under breath through gritted teeth.

Both attorneys cornered Marvin Exley by the stairwell.

"Exley, I believe you have something that belongs to Michael Cutter."

Exley turned to Mike. "What the hell is she talking about?"

"All I want is my man pills back." Mike quipped.

Exley scoffed with contentment. "And that would make you what, Mr. Cutter? The new poster boy for Andropause?"

Connie awoke abruptly, her breath heavy and bedclothes drenched in sweat. What a strange and awful dream!

_Oh god, what was in that tea? _

She tossed off her blankets, and headed downstairs for a glass of water.

She had made her way into the kitchen without flicking the light switch, the full moon making enough light through the window for her to manage. It wasn't until she heard her sister's coughing that she realised she wasn't alone.

She switched on the light next to the refrigerator. "Marisol?"

"Hey Con," Marisol said, taking a puff of her cigarette. "What are you doin' up?"

"Oh nothing, I just came down to get a glass of water." Connie opened the refrigerator and reached for the icy jug placed at the back of the shelf.

"Can't sleep?" She took another puff of her cigarette. "Neither can I . . ." She couldn't finish her sentence, her words ending in a fit of coughing. "Nothing a nicotine hit can't fix."

Connie took a seat next to her with her glass of water. "I had this dream."

She put forward her cigarette, offering a puff to Connie.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself, but then you were always the smart one weren't you." She put the cigarette to her lips once more as she sidled up to Connie with amusement, her mouth curling up in a wicked smile. "This dream you had, it wasn't about some beach-living body builder you met in L.A. was it? I'm telling ya sis, I've had my fair share of those."

No matter how hard Marisol had tried, she could never rouse a single smile in her sister when she was like this. _Why does she always have to take things so damn seriously?_

Still shell-shocked form the images of her dream, Connie took a sip of her water. "I had a dream about my boss. Well my ex-boss. The one I had here in New York." She paused for a moment. "I really don't understand it."

Marisol's ears pricked. "Was it one of those sorts of dreams? Do tell."

"No, not one of those dreams. Well, not exactly." Connie relented, figuring that she should tell her sister everything, knowing that she would wheedle it out of her eventually. "That friend I saw yesterday, it was Mike, my boss," she began to explain. "After spending the day together, it felt as though something had shifted, like we forgot we used to work together. After I was thrown in the lake by those kids, Mike took me back to his place to dry off. There was something I saw in his apartment that bothered me."

Connie watched as Marisol butted her cigarette in a small misshapen ash tray, obviously made by one of her four children at pre-school.

"And this something, whatever it is, caused you to have this dream?"

Connie watched in slight disgust as Marisol picked at the scab on the new tattoo on her forearm. "Where'd you get that one from?" she wanted to know.

Marisol shrugged. "This guy Marco on 8th. I can book you for an appointment if you like?"

"No! I mean, no thanks."

She focused her attention back on Connie. "I thought we were talking about this sexy lawyer from your old work."

Connie felt her cheeks flush. There certainly was a time when Mike would have been described as sexy. She recalled the way he delivered his summations with such conviction, dressed in those dark suits, his penetrating eyes scouring each member of the courtroom. Now that he was a bit older, that was the last word that came to mind. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny that he was quite good looking for a man of his years.

"There was a set of women's underwear drying on the radiator in Mike's apartment."

"And this upset you because they were _your _underwears?" She gave Connie a playful shove. "Don't worry Con. It's happened to me many a time."

"No, they weren't mine!" She gave her a resentful glare, before continuing with her story.

"I thought it would be worth asking, given that us Rubirosa women a notorious for sleeping with our bosses." She laughed at how easily she could get at her little sister. "Not that I've had much luck personally with male bosses, working in a salon."

Connie couldn't help but think back to the Marcus Woll incident. _Never again!_

After a moment of silence, when Connie had finished her glass of water, and Marisol had lit another cigarette, they were back on speaking terms.

"So this Mike has a girlfriend?"

"I think so. If he had a girlfriend, why didn't he mention it?"

Marisol gave her a pitiful half smile. "Con Honey, I think you should ask yourself why you're asking that question."


End file.
